Chapter 22
In retrospect, Torian should have just kept her mouth shut.
“What does ‘behave yourself’ mean in human context?” Moss sounded both confused and sarcastic, which was an impressive combination. “My systems do not have those words registered.”
Torian paused in her cleanup of the ship, preparing the space for Celise.
She’d decided to sleep on the couch, which meant her sister could take the more private sleeping room.
At her behest, Moss had guided Torian to a hydrosonic cleaning container, which had done an excellent job freshening the dirty bedding.
Torian fluffed the clean comforter. “It just means that my sister is already suspicious, and I may need you to … ah, ease into your normal self.”
She winced. It sounded bad when she explained it like that.
Moss must agree, because it seemed to have settled on utter disdain. “I am always my normal self. Multiple people have confirmed I am a delightful conversationalist.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then your fear is unfounded.”
Probably true. Torian was just nervous. She bounced on her toes as she folded the blankets, trying to make them as aesthetic as possible.
It might actually be cold enough tonight to need the comforter.
The air was still humid, although Moss had made subtle adjustments to accommodate Celise’s breathing difficulties.
Hot, heavy humidity might trigger Celise more than the recycled station air, so Moss had lessened that and infused more oxygen into a smaller space.
Really, it was already on its best behavior.
Torian chuckled. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“I am right ninety-seven point four percent of the time. Since there is a small margin of error, I understand your hesitation.” It pivoted immediately. “Your body language is registering as nervous. Are you afraid of your sister?”
“Of her? No, never.” Torian laughed at the idea. She stepped back to admire her handiwork. The sleeping room was perfectly prepped. After a moment’s contemplation, she admitted, “For her … maybe. If I can’t convince her to stay on Vaesa, we both know what will happen.”
“That seems like an elementary decision on Celise’s part.”
“Try telling her that.” Torian groaned, shuffling back into the living area with bedding she’d been using this whole time. She dumped it on the couch, attempting to make it into an equally neat presentation. “She’s always considered Colony 13 her home. And she does have people relying on her here.”
“She was prepared to join you on Rhymarra.”
Torian swallowed, tucking the sheets around the cushions. “Yeah. But Rhymarra has better doctors and medical advancements. At least there, she could research her condition and try to find a cure. She’s not the only one who has this breathing issue—so in her mind, doing research is still helping.”
“She cannot pursue research on Vaesa?” Moss asked.
“I mean, I think she can, but—”
Moss interrupted, “A human is outside the cargo bay, calling for you. If it matters, this human’s facial features register as eighty-four percent similar to your own.”
Celise. Torian checked her watch, and sure enough, several hours had passed without Torian realizing.
The Destitute was sparkling—or as close as a ship covered in moss could get.
She’d even grabbed more groceries and made a pot of vegetable soup, letting it simmer as she cleaned.
The table was set, and everything looked welcoming.
Hopefully this first impression was just the start.
Torian skipped down the staircase and opened the cargo door to reveal Celise. Her long blond hair was pulled into a prim ponytail, and a backpack was slung over one shoulder. She raised one eyebrow, peering past Torian into the ship.
“You weren’t kidding about the moss.”
“We never joke about Moss,” the computer said overhead.
Torian reveled at the confusion on Celise’s face. Believe me now? she wanted to say, but somehow she managed to clamp that arrogance down. Instead, she gestured broadly inside. “Come in. That’s Moss, the life support system.”
Celise entered the ship, shooting Torian a skeptical look. As Torian closed the cargo bay doors, sealing them inside, Celise ventured to say, “Ah, hello, Moss.”
“Hello, Celise. It is an elementary decision for you to remain on Vaesa, given your medical condition.”
Torian almost face-palmed. “Moss,” she hissed.
Moss replayed a clip over the speakers of Torian’s voice: “‘Try telling her that.’” After it ended, Moss inserted, “You requested I tell her.”
Torian might die.
Celise, on the other hand, cocked one hip. “Considering I wasn’t convinced of its existence ten minutes ago, I’m already liking your life support system. Moss, can we gang up on Torian about her reckless behavior next?”
“I am already partnered with Captain Amelia Perrosk on such matters. We would be happy to welcome you into our pact.”
“What pact?” Torian demanded, her face heating dangerously. She shouldn’t have been surprised that Moss talked to Amelia without her knowledge—Moss was absolutely the kind to do due diligence—but embarrassment still settled over her shoulders.
“Do not be perturbed, Torian. Life-threatening behavior disrupts my programming. It is natural I have taken steps to mitigate your unsavory actions,” Moss said.
“Wonderful,” Celise replied with a broad smile.
Torian groaned. “I’m rethinking this.”
“Too late.” Her sister winked and climbed the staircase. As she assessed the living area, its potted plants and moss carpet, the kitchenette with a warm meal cooking, the comfy couch and Torian’s half-unfurled bedding, a smile tilted her lips.
“This is surprisingly cozy.”
Torian relaxed. She hadn’t realized how desperately she wanted Celise to like her starship until that moment. Vaesa was the most important impression, but … it was nice to know her sister finally understood the Destitute.
“I have been told I am cozy.” Moss sounded pleased.
“Are you the ship, or just life support?” Celise tilted her head, setting her backpack on the floor.
Moss cheerfully replied, “I am the moss colony, so my main function is life support. However, I have recently obtained control of the Destitute’s subsystems.” Moss paused, but it was barely enough to separate the two conversations.
“If you wish to research a cure for your condition, Vaesa is a perfect location for that. The nylarians were a very advanced species. I received confirmation that Dutch will help you however he can.”
Celise had stepped up the stairs to the flight deck, peering through the big windows there. Absently, she repeated, “Ah, Dutch?”
“He’s the last remaining nylarian.” Torian grinned. “Moss is right, you know. They were incredible.”
Celise hummed, but it was the placating hum of I still don’t really believe you, but sure. I’ll play along. “I see.” Her expression turned wry. “Since the air is so pure here, you won’t mind if I set up an air sample analysis, would you?”
Torian narrowed her eyes. “Do you seriously still think I’m hallucinating?”
“I haven’t ruled anything out.” Celise patted Torian’s shoulder.
Luckily, Moss intervened: “An air sample would be redundant. The Destitute’s oxygen is analyzed every three seconds. I can transmit the data to your datapad, if you’d like.”
That, finally, caught Celise off guard. She raised an eyebrow. “Actually, that would be helpful. Can I run a side-by-side sample to verify those numbers?”
“That is only appropriate for true scientific study.” Moss didn’t seem offended at all about that, which was both a shock and a blessing.
No harm in any of this, Torian supposed. Celise was clearly impressed with Moss, and soon she’d be impressed with everything else, too. But before air sampling, Torian had something else to prove. “Hang on. Don’t leave the flight deck yet; I want you to watch us depart.”
“Why?” Celise raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms.
Torian snorted at her suspicion. “Because you think I’m lying about wormholes, and I’m here to prove you wrong. It’s my favorite pastime, after all.”
Celise glared at Torian and said, “Sure. Best case, wormholes do exist. Worst case, I get to laugh at you for eternity for thinking they do.”
“Bring it on.” Torian glared back.
Moss interjected, “You have a curious conversation dynamic. Documenting for future analysis.”
And the Destitute departed yet again.
Two hours later, Torian lounged on the couch watching Celise double-check the numbers against Moss’s data.
She hadn’t been joking—she actually had brought an entire air sampler.
They were typically used to discover toxins in her patients’ homes, but now it was verifying every ridiculous claim Torian had made.
She couldn’t think of a more satisfying way to spend their evening.
“Still think I’m crazy?” Torian drawled.
Celise waved a hand, muttering under her breath.
After a moment, she glanced up from the datapad.
“Can you blame me? This—” She gestured at the speakers above them, at the moss around them, at the inky black of the wormhole through the Destitute’s plenaria windows that still occasionally flashed with blue light.
“—is ludicrous. None of this should be feasible.”
“Compare our analyses, please. If the samples are inaccurate, it is likely caused by your poor testing equipment, not my systems,” Moss said.
“It’s exceedingly accurate,” Celise replied grudgingly. “Your air is as pure as the best open field in Rhymarra. You are literally matching the ionite standard set for humans.”
Moss was also haughty. “I am the standard for humans, yes. I have spent enough time sampling your space station air and analyzing human breathing patterns to know exact levels. Our visit to Rhymarra only confirmed my data.”
Torian liked figuring out how things worked, but poring over endless datafiles and analyzing microscopic contaminants made her want to pull her hair out. (She knew from experience. She still had a tiny bald spot from Advanced Chemistry, visible if she parted her hair just right.)
No, Celise was the scientist between the two of them. Her sister pushed a few blond strands behind her ear, squinting at her sampler. It looked like a big cotton ball atop a stick, and she’d dunked it into various vials to test what it collected. Now she peered at a bright orange vial.
“Do you realize what this means, Tor?” Celise asked. “What Moss could do for humanity?”
Ah, yeah. About that. Torian shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t think Moss wants to fix humanity’s problems. We locked it in a dark, empty hangar for over a hundred years.”
Moss didn’t respond, which felt like confirmation enough.
Celise winced. “Oh. I’m terribly sorry, Moss.”
The computer replied: “It was not your fault.”
Maybe Torian was making assumptions, but she heard It was Dutch’s, loud and clear. Still, it felt like progress that Moss didn’t voice it.
Celise sighed, dumping the liquid in the vials into the sink. She disposed of the cotton ball next, wrapping up her experiment. Torian stretched out on the couch, as proud as a cat preening in the middle of a busy walkway.
Her sister reluctantly met her gaze.
Torian’s smile grew wider.
Celise huffed.
“Go ahead, Lise. Say it.”
They both knew what Torian meant.
Celise grumbled something that sounded like a curse, then admitted, “Fine. Fine. You aren’t hallucinating. I’m…” Celise paused, pulling the words through gritted teeth: “I’m sorry for doubting you.”
“You haven’t coughed in an hour,” Torian pointed out.
Celise didn’t seem impressed. “That’s not uncommon. My attacks come and go.”
It still felt like a victory to Torian.
Celise finally settled onto the couch, perching beside Torian.
Their shoulders touched. Celise cleared her throat, and for once, it didn’t prompt a coughing fit.
She fished into her nearby backpack, pulling out a ball of yarn and a set of knitting needles.
“Well, this is my first vacation in years. I’m ready to relax. ”
“Of course, Doctor,” Torian drawled, pushing off the couch to sit at the table.
She’d finished her model of the Destitute and was working on one of Vaesa now.
It was a much bigger challenge, considering Torian had only seen it in person once, and the details inside each auxiliary dome were tough to nail down.
Celise watched her sorting scrap pieces to adhere to the new sculpture for a few minutes.
“That space station is pretty. If it really looks like that, it must be a marvel.” The words were grudging.
“Yeah,” Torian said, excitement swelling in her chest. She pointed to the tree she was starting to craft in the big dome’s center. “That’s the tree with blue leaves. They’re called kerracs. This one apparently named itself Kerracia.”
“Because it is a self-important, inconsiderate asshole,” Moss intoned.
Celise snorted. “You’ve spoken with it?”
“I speak with all plants. It is easier than conversing with humans. Your speech has subtext and pairs with body language, and requires multiple translators to fully identify. Plants are plants. There is no subtext. Kerracia is an inconsiderate asshole.”
Torian grinned, and Celise’s serious expression fractured, and then they both dissolved into laughter.
And Celise didn’t cough—not once.